Wednesday, August 17, 2011

I'm reading the archives of Nina's blog, both to catch up on what I missed, and to try to track back exactly when I gave up on the blogs that used to be both a voice and a community for me. It looks like I stopped commenting, so probably also stopped reading, in July 2009. Which coincides quite nicely with when Nina stopped posting as frequently, so there's that.

But I also notice that I only posted 15 times in all of 2009, and only four times since April of that year. What happened then to cause the decline? I didn't get on Fakebook until summer of 2010, so that didn't replace the blog in my affections.

Could it be when the Billionaire broke my heart, that decimated my writerly efforts? Or was it just that everyone stopped blogging fora while there? Were there other significant shifts or losses to my personality, my identity, around that time?

Today I checked out my Google reader for the first time in who knows how long. And I saw that Nina has been blogging again.

I have not.

When I started on Facebook, and then actually started *using* that Twitter account I've had forever, all my idle writing time and random thoughts got redirected there. Which is sad, because I used to really enjoy writing more than 140 characters at a time.

It's also sad that I think I stopped writing because I thought no one was really interested. My former place of employment was such a degrading cesspool of misery, that I spent a few years there thinking that I wasn't really worth much, and making lots of bad choices because of that mistaken notion. But clicking through some old posts, I see a lot of linkbacks, so I guess folks relay were reading after all!

Yes, I said former employer. I left in January, and like Nina, have been taking some time to try to figure out what would make me happier. I was *supposed* to be writing, but haven't done nearly enough of that. Finding Nina again today reminded me of my own beloved blog here.

I can't promise that I'll be as prolific as I once was. First of all, I need to start writing under my real name, to build up my reputation and clips file. And I'm still not comfortable having employers see some of the tales of my wild urban youth. (Also, my mom is totally into the interwebs now; she finds everything.) But I can try.

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

Contrary to what I've seen discussed elsewhere, I don't think it was actually about the pursuit of perfection. Nina was nowhere near perfect, and that was clear from the beginning. Her dancing was forced and unnatural (and honestly, if Aronofsky had wanted a good ballet performance, he would have cast an actual dancer). Her personality is meek and child-like. She has a history of scratching and cutting, and she's bulimic. Neurotic does not equal perfectionist. In fact, the only evidence that she seeks perfection is that she says it -- squeaks it -- when she visits Thomas. The way she lives and behaves does not indicate any understanding of perfection, nor of what it takes to achieve it. Please, she doesn't even have the bruised, callused toes of someone who's spent any time in toe shoes. I can't believe Aronofsky neglected that detail by accident.

This movie is about manipulation, and it casts women in a harsh light to prove that point. Thomas manipulates his dancers to get a certain quality in their performances. This is legitimate, from what I've both seen and heard of directors, but his methods are unseemly. Also, I would think they'd be ineffective, as the aggressive, confrontational sexuality he tries to use on Nina seems only suited to get her defenses up even higher.

Regarding how this movie is unkind to women, it's the female characters who are, with only one exception, toxically manipulative and damaged. The mother has an unhealthy, smothering obsession; Nina is dysfunctionally neurotic; Beth is petty, jealous and self-destructive; that other dancer is just a catty bitch. Only Lily is presented as happy and functional, but she's also cast as the bad influence and the dangerous presence. Hers is the only character that I didn't find utterly annoying, cliche, terrible and overwrought; yet Mila Kunis's is the performance that everyone seems to be trashing.

We've had more than enough movies that show competitive, ambitious women in a negative light; aren't we bored with them yet? This movie is just a more artfully shot Showgirls, as far as I can tell. And not to beat a dead horse, but if you do a comparison of how ambitious women are portrayed in film versus ambitious men, you'll see there is a hugely unfair disparity.

As for the sexuality aspect, I thought that was utter bullshit, practically a red herring. Thomas equates a liberated and passionate dance performance with being sexually wild, as if there were no other ways to be free and open. As for ...Nina's masturbation scenes, I may be naive, or in some bizarre secret way frigid myself, but I can't imagine anyone so uptight and sexually repressed getting all gaspy and moany after like two seconds of touching herself. Seems to me that it would take her a bit longer to loosen up and get into it. Again, manipulative.

One question -- how the hell was Portman even *able* to get pregnant? At least she had some muscle, but still she definitely looked too thin to ovulate. Nasty.

Monday, October 26, 2009

...even if what you want to say is perfectly expressed in under 140 characters:

"At bedtime, the still-rumpled sheets were a sweet reminder of the afternoon's indiscretion."

Oh, Captain, my Captain!

So first off, I've begun to think descriptively, to capture moments, in Twitter bites. This is sad, and really bad for my writing muscles. For example, the post above is a pale shadow of what I thought of last night, but refrained from Tweeting (thank God I still have a little bit of decorum left, and have not gone full-on We Live In Public quite yet). I can't remember the good structure that floated through my head last night, and my writing is just too rusty to come up with something equivalent or better.

Next oddness, when I decided to blog this instead of Tweet it, I autopilot logged on to Twitter anyway. Twitter has infiltrated my brain way more insidiously than I'd realized.

Thirdly, in the time I've been away, Blogger has gotten really hard to log onto! Annoying (though they do have a new "Monetize" tab that I might want to check out...)

You know what else is annoying? A clearly dominant personality who claims he wants to be dominated, but could never let go. And there's something else I'm rusty at, as well; I've totally lost the skills and was unable to keep him in line. Sigh, I've got a lot of work to do to get back on track.

PS: that link above talks about way more than just the "We Live In Public" project, so I don't want to give it short shrift. The end of empathy is something I've felt, ironically but most noticeably, since 9/11. Almost as if true feeling and connection has been replaced by the Cliff Notes version. Maybe this is another aspect of my Twitter-ready mind right now, and something else I'd like to work on more. But I think that will deserve a post all on its own. For now, let me just say that I agree with pretty much everything Jason said up there...

Non-Spoiler Info: Dude, seriously? Once a tv show has broadcast, all bets are off, and it's really not my fault if you haven't gotten around to seeing it yet. Sure, you can ask that we not talk about it in front of you, and we will surely comply. But to overhear a private conversation, and then yell and scream that we ruined it for you, when you never even told us that you haven't seen it yet? It's not my responsibility to keep tabs on your personal viewing habits, just like it's not my responsibility to remember your favorite ice cream flavor, or that you don't like chocolate or something weird like that. I'll respect your requests, but you have to *make* those requests first. I'm not a mind-reader, and you're not the center of the universe.